[CHAPTER XVII.]
Early in the morning, considerably earlier even than is fashionable to pay visits in the town of Smolensk, the door of an orange painted house, with balconies and sky-blue pillars was suddenly thrown open, and a lady, wrapped in a long silk cloak of a chess-board pattern, rushed hurriedly into the street, followed by a servant in livery, who wore a cloak with numerous little collars, and a large gold-laced band ornamented his round and carefully brushed hat.
The lady slipped hastily over the steps, and into the open carriage, which had been waiting for her already for some time before the principal entrance of the house. The servant in livery immediately after shut the lady up in the carriage by closing the carriage-door after her, and having put up the steps, he seized the straps, which were fixed behind the carriage, and shouted to the coachman, "drive on!"
The lady in the carriage, being the bearer of the latest news, was, of course, particularly anxious to arrive at her destination with the least possible delay. Every moment she kept peeping out of the window of her carriage, and found to her apparently great annoyance that he had still the other half of her journey to make. Every house which the carriage passed seemed to her to be unusually longer than ordinarily; the chalk coloured workhouse, with its narrow and low windows, stretched itself in the most tiresome length, so much so indeed, that the fair occupant of the carriage could no longer repress her impatience, but exclaimed, "how provoking, this miserable edifice seems to have no end at all!"
Her coachman had already twice received instructions to drive on quicker, and she herself shouted twice to him saying: "you are unbearably slow this morning, Karpuschka! for heaven's sake hasten, hasten on!"
At last she had arrived at her destination. The carriage stopped before a building of wood, only one story high, but very extensive, painted of a dark slate colour, with white plaster-work ornaments on the top frames of the windows, with a wooden railing projecting as far as the pavement, behind which a few scanty-looking poplars were growing, the leaves of which were covered with imperishable dust, heaped upon them by continual winds. In every one of the numerous windows, flower-pots with Dutch tulips, pleasantly relieved the gloomy slate-colour of the house, a parrot was balancing himself to and fro in his cage, trying to catch with his beak the ring in it; and two lap-dogs were lying on a cushion in one of the windows, enjoying the early rays of the rising sun. In this house dwelt the very intimate friend of the lady who had just arrived in her carriage.
The author feels considerably embarrassed as to the names of the two ladies, because in the Russian language it happened that the real names of the two ladies conveyed the most fitting idea of their character, and which it would be nearly impossible to render properly in English. Many an author is often embarrassed for a name, and many another not at all, as for ourselves, we must confess, we feel really considerably so. There are persons that say: "What is there in a name?" Nothing! With those persons we beg to differ considerably, because we are of the opinion, and maintain it, that there is much, if not all in a name. To wit, the name of Nicholas! does it not convey the idea of the most, barbarous, if not the most unchristian potentate of Europe? reigning over sixty-two millions, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine other unfortunate barbarians! (since we are in free England, we beg to exclude ourselves from making up the even number of sixty-three millions, at which enormous amount the faithful subjects of his Imperial Majesty have been computed, according to the latest statistics of the Empire.)
Again, the name of Victoria! does it not convey an idea of the most Christian and lovely Queen that reigns over the most enlightened, and most liberal nation in Christendom? And since the prestige of these two names cannot be denied, we feel still more confirmed in our opinion that there is much, if not all in a name.
And for this reason we will also christen in the most conscientious, and in the most fitting English expression, the two ladies we ye now about to introduce to our fair readers.
Without any further apologies and preliminaries, then, we will call the lady who received the early morning visit of her friend, simply and thus, as she was well known in Smolensk: "the in every respect amiable lady." This name she had acquired in the most legitimate manner indeed, because she stood on no sacrifices to be always amiable to the highest degree of amiability. Though, of course, her passionate feminine character made but too frequent incursions upon her reputation of perfect amiability; and though in each of her amiable qualities, and especially words, there seemed pins and needles hidden; and, good Heaven! preserve that lady who would dare to presume in anything to be the first, for such presumption was sufficient to make the blood boil in the very heart of the in every respect amiable lady.